


Honest and Whole

by pearl_o



Category: Canadian Actor RPF, Panic At The Disco
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-12-15
Updated: 2007-12-15
Packaged: 2017-10-03 19:12:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,268
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21297
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pearl_o/pseuds/pearl_o
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"They don't use the word "dating", not ever. Ellen says she never wants to be the sort of person whose personal life is more interesting than their professional life."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Honest and Whole

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by shoemaster. Thank you to etben for beta.

Brendon wakes up from his nap alone, thirsty and a little groggy. It's the middle of the afternoon and the sky's gray where he can see it through the window. His slippers aren't next to the bed where he left them, so he's barefoot on the cold floor as he walks, stretching and patting his hair down a little as he goes.

The kitchen's empty. He gets himself a glass of water and drinks it by the sink, fast, until his mouth doesn't taste like it's covered in fur anymore. He can hear voices coming from outside, so he walks through the living room to the sliding door, and out to the patio.

Ryan and Jon are on the padded bench, curled up together towards one corner. Ellen is sitting cross-legged in a long lawn chair next to them, holding Jon's favorite yellow pipe. She's wearing Brendon's favorite purple hoodie, zipped up all the way to her chin, and Brendon's fuzzy slippers.

"Hi," Brendon says, and they all look over at him.

Ryan waves at him, loose-limbed. Jon says, "Hey!" Ellen just smiles.

Brendon drapes himself across the lower end of the lawn chair, resting his head in Ellen's lap.

"Ellen was telling us how weed is legal in Canada," Jon says.

"Is that true?" Brendon says, twisting his head so he can see her face.

Ellen shakes her head and whispers, "No."

"And gay marriage, too," Ryan says. "Canada is awesome. We should write a song about it."

"We should," Brendon agrees. "We can call it 'O Ellen-ada.'"

"Wow, that's a shitty name," Ellen says. She pokes him lightly in the arm.

"No, it's _artistic_," Brendon says. "O Ellen-ada!" He yells it more than sings it. He doesn't actually know the tune to 'O Canada.'

Ellen shakes her head again and just asks, "Did you sleep okay?"

"Yeah. I had a weird dream. It was like, I was me, but I was in a me-suit. And it had a zipper. And the edge of the zipper was, like, right on my neck, here." He points to the spot, on the left, a few inches above his shoulders. "And I pulled on it, and it came open, and it kept on going, all down my arms and my legs and everything, and then I just stepped out of the whole thing and walked away."

"That sounds messed up," Jon says, frowning.

"What were you wearing?" Ryan asks. He's frowning too.

Ellen says, "So you're like a snake. Shedding your skin and getting a new one. Cool." She widens her eyes in mock surprise. "Maybe you're actually growing as a person, Brendon!"

"Go me!" says Brendon. He raises one fist in triumph.

"Totally go you," Ellen agrees. She rests her hand, palm open, gentle on Brendon's back. It's warm, even through his t-shirt.

*****

The morning after the first time Brendon slept with Ellen, he locked himself in the bathroom with his cell phone, curled up in the corner between the sink and the bathtub, and called all his band mates. Spencer was the first one who actually answered his phone.

Spencer greeted him with, "What the fuck, Urie? It's six am."

"I know, Spencer, I wouldn't normally call at this hour, but it's really important, I swear."

Spencer let out something between a huff and sigh. "What is it?"

"I think," and Brendon lowered his voice here, even though Ellen was not only still asleep but in another room and nobody else was around, "I think I'm straight."

Spencer didn't say anything.

"Spencer! Spencer, did you hear me?"

"I heard you," Spencer said.

Brendon waited again. "Well?"

"I'm going back to sleep."

"Wait, wait, this is serious! I'm having a sexual identity crisis! I need your guidance!" Brendon flailed a little, almost hitting the shower door.

"Maybe _you_ should go back to sleep," Spencer offered, but he didn't sound like he really cared if Brendon did or not.

"I don't think you're comprehending this. I like _pussy_," Brendon cried, but Spencer had already hung up.

When he came back out of the bathroom, Ellen was awake, sitting up in bed with the covers pooled around her lap. She wasn't wearing a shirt, and Brendon couldn't help noticing her breasts were really pretty. Little, but pretty.

Ellen had a weird expression on her face, too. She said slowly, "Were you just yelling the word 'pussy' in the bathroom?"

Brendon hesitated. "No?" he tried, because it seemed like the best answer.

Ellen gazed at him.

"Maybe?"

"Uh-huh," Ellen said. She didn't sound very convinced, so Brendon sat down on the edge of the bed and tried to form an explanation.

"I'm just. I, um. I might be a little confused right now."

Ellen tilted her head back at the ceiling and let out a breath. "Oh, god, is this about the gay thing? Honestly, it's okay, I knew you were a faggot when--"

"No!" said Brendon. "I'm not! I'm not gay! I swear!" He spread his arms wide, trying to demonstrate his confusion. "I'm straight!"

Ellen cracked a smile. "You are not."

"I am!"

"Shut up."

"That is why I'm _confused_," Brendon said. He climbed onto the mattress, kneeling next to her. "I totally want to have sex with you again."

"That's really flattering," Ellen said dryly.

Brendon leaned forward and down and kissed her mouth. He said against her lips, "Like, I could. Can I eat you out? That's something straight guys do."

Ellen's eyes were still closed. "You know what, I don't care if you're just going through some weird repressed Mormon phase. Seriously, feel free, give me all the head you want."

"Okay," Brendon said, "awesome," and he pulled the blankets off of her and onto the floor.

*****

They don't use the word "dating", not ever. Ellen says she never wants to be the sort of person whose personal life is more interesting than their professional life, so she won't talk about it in interviews at all, although whenever she gets a question about what music she's listening to or what's on her iPod this minute, she always mentions Panic! at the Disco, right alongside her Patti Smith and Moldy Peaches.

When Brendon gets asked about it, he just says she's a cool girl and a really good friend.

"We're really not dating, anyway," is what Ellen says. "I mean, not really. By the time we told people we'd be just friends again." They swing back and forth like a pendulum some weeks, from friends to more than friends and back again. Brendon still thinks of her as his girlfriend, though, even when they're both seeing other people.

They get used to going to each other's award shows, sitting next to each other in padded theater seats and around crowded tables, no kisses, just hugs and sometimes footsie where no one can see. Whenever they're leaving some place, a restaurant, club, bus, hotel, whatever, they walk together holding hands. Ellen always groans if she sees a picture of them show up online or in some magazine, but she likes holding Brendon's hand more than she minds those.

Brendon makes her promise to take him to Canada some day. He likes the way she sounds when she talks about home, and about growing up. Her parents, her weird Buddhist high school, Halifax. It's different than the way he thinks about Las Vegas. It makes him want to see it all, not just the insides of venues he's seen on tour, but what she sees.

"It's cold up there, though, right? In Canada?" he asks her one night in bed.

Ellen rolls her eyes and says, "Yes, Brendon. The entire country of Canada is a frozen wasteland. Every single bit."

"Okay," Brendon says. "I'll pack an extra scarf."

Ellen smiles at him and runs her fingers through his bangs and says, "I'll make you hot chocolate to keep you warm. With extra marshmallows."

"You're my favorite, Ellen Page," Brendon says, and he really means it.

*****

Ellen doesn't like Pete Wentz. Like, at all. Brendon can tell, and not just because he's an attentive friend and incredibly empathetic person, but because Ellen doesn't even try to hide her disdain for him whenever they're in the same room.

Pete definitely notices it. "Yo, Bden," he says one night, throwing his arm around Brendon's shoulders, just as Brendon's about to take a swallow of his beer. Pete makes him jiggle the glass and a bunch spills, but it mostly goes on Pete's shoes, so it's okay. "Your girlfriend, man. She really hates my guts, doesn't she?"

Brendon thinks it over for a moment, but there's really not anything he can say but, "Yeah. She really kind of does."

Pete laughs. Pete, Brendon is pretty sure, is both completely used to and completely okay with people hating his guts. It's one of the awesome things about him.

"You made a lot of castration jokes the first time you met her," Brendon says, a little apologetically. "She's not really into that." Brendon hadn't ever seen _Hard Candy_, and from what he's heard, he still doesn't ever want to. Apparently Pete had, though, and he followed up telling Ellen how awesome he thought _Juno_ was with a couple of pointed questions about the safety of Brendon's balls.

"Oh," Ellen had said. "Wow. I never heard that one before. You're a funny guy." Then she stood up and walked to the other side of the room and joined Ryan and Keltie where they were talking.

"Seriously?" Pete says now. He looks surprised. "I thought they were fucking hilarious."

Brendon nods solemnly. One time when Ellen was a little drunk she ranted a little about how Pete was an asshole and how he represented exactly the kind of bullshit that was being pressed onto teenagers, like they weren't people of their own with their own minds and thoughts and intelligence. Brendon might have gotten angry if he wasn't a little drunk, too, but as it was he squirmed uncomfortably and started to say, "Um, that's not--"

Ellen interrupted, saying "Sorry, sorry," rubbing the side of her face with her hand. "I'm just tired, okay, sorry, I know he's your friend. Ignore me."

Brendon doesn't think Pete really needs to know that, though.

*****

Sometimes they curl up together somewhere cuddly, a couch or an armchair or a bed, where Ellen fits between his legs, her back soft against his front and her head tucked carefully under his chin. Brendon has his headphones in and Ellen has hers, listening to their separate iPods. Brendon wraps his arms around her and closes his eyes and listens to the music and it's pretty much a perfect moment, one he wants to last forever.

There's been a couple time like that when Ellen has started crying. Not sobbing or anything, but still, crying, just because of the music. Just because she's that into it, that connected to it, that passionate.

Brendon licks the tears off her cheek.

*****

For her birthday Brendon gets her a large stuffed monkey. "Its name is Guenevere," he says brightly when she unwraps it. "It's a special monkey! It's indigenous to Canada!"

Ellen laughs out loud. "I'll think of you every time I look at it," she promises.

*****

Ellen is out camping with friends when the Oscar nominations are released, out in the desert somewhere where she doesn't seem to have any cell phone reception. Brendon leaves her three messages, each progressively more excited. Ellen calls him back three days later, from her apartment in Halifax, sounding so tired and overwhelmed that Brendon doesn't mention the Oscars at all. Instead he just talks, fast and excited, telling her all the funny band stories he's been saving until he makes her burst into laughter.

******

It's been fifteen months since they met. Brendon's in Illinois on the second week of a tour and Ellen is in New York near the end of the press junket for her latest movie.

Ellen answers her phone with a "Hey, sweetie." She sounds slightly distracted.

"Ellen!" Brendon says. "Ellen, Ellen, Ellen!"

"Um, yes?"

"I have an important confession to make to you," Brendon says. He's sitting on the lounge in this bus, and he has the back of his hand pressed dramatically to his forehead, even though Ellen can't see him.

"An important confession?" Ellen repeats his words. Brendon thinks there's a possibility she's not taking him completely seriously.

"Remember when we did it the first time, and I told you I was straight?" He doesn't wait for her answer. "It turns out I'm not. It turns out I'm not. I'm totally, totally not."

Ellen says carefully, "Well, Brendon, I'll be sure to keep that in mind, okay?"

"I'm in love," Brendon says. "With a _boy_!"

There's a sharp pause. Ellen might be trying not to laugh or she might not. He can't tell. He says, "Are you mad at me?"

"Yes," Ellen says. "I hate you now. I'll never forgive you. I have to go now, I have to cut out your face out of all our pictures and burn them in my trashcan."

"Shut up," Brendon says, grinning.

"As long as you invite me to your gay wedding, I think we're cool, all right?"

"You can be my maid of honor," Brendon promises. "Or maybe the flower girl."

"Awesome," Ellen says. "Look, I really do have to go, but really, I'm happy for you, okay? Congratulations."

"Thanks, Ellen. You're still my favorite girl," Brendon says. "If I was going to be straight, I'd be straight for you."

"Damn right you would," says Ellen.


End file.
